


Two Quarters and a Heart Down

by Flames_and_Jade



Series: Only One For Me - Peterick OTP Prompts Repository [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Band, Ballet, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hip Hop, M/M, Modern Dance, Mutual Pining, Peterick, alternate universe - art students, college students, cuteness, dance student!pete, dance students, music student!patrick, music students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: It was a universally acknowledged truth that there just weren’t enough musical employment opportunities in the world for the graduated, finished and pedigreed artists and musicians. That meant there were even less for the students who were still gestating in the womb of the university. So when the advertisement had been placed for someone to come play piano three nights a week for Ballet 206…he had jumped on it. Something that wasn’t wiping trays at the cafeteria or cleaning the auditorium after meetings and actually had anything to do with music was amazing. Basically, an AU where Pete is a dance major and Patrick is a music major at college. They meet...there are eventual sparks...you get the drift ;)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off two OTP prompts. 
> 
> This one: "Imagine your OTP watching the Nutcracker ballet on TV. Person A is humming along with the music and Person B keeps pointing at the dancers, saying things like “I could do that”." (http://otp-imagines-cult.tumblr.com/post/135884228287/imagine-your-otp-watching-the-nutcracker-ballet-on)
> 
> Which inspired me to write this Prompt: Person A is a sound/lights/musician/whatever person for a ballet. Person B is a dancer. Person A doesn’t think person B would ever be interested in them (because they’re surrounded by so many gorgeous dancers) but…?

 

_“And…Five, six, seven, eight.”_

 

_His fingers danced over the keys as arms were raised, limbs stretched and bodies began to stir to life, moving with the deceptive lightness and effortless grace that was only the result of tireless repetition. The slow trilling of the piano gave way to deeper notes as the song swelled, and the dancers came to life. Bodies moved in motions that seemed out of sync with the music until they were viewed as a whole. Then somehow the chaotic movements became one, became synchronized, became the definition of harmony and beauty._

 

_But then it was over. His steps echoed in the now empty room, sounding melancholy. He had never told anyone that was the word that always came to his mind when he thought about the darkened studio…but somehow it seemed the most fitting, the closest approximation. It was like the mirrored walls and the worn floors ached for more beauty to seep into them, yearned for more light and life and movement to keep them whole and unbroken. But it wasn’t a hopeless melancholy, there was no desperate ache of loss. It was like the studio knew that it would be filled with beauty again…so it just sat echoing back its own yearning sighs until the dancers returned._

 

~//~

 

It had been just a strange gig at first. It was a universally acknowledged truth that there just weren’t enough _musical_ employment opportunities in the world for the graduated, finished and pedigreed artists and musicians. That meant there were even less for the students who were still gestating in the womb of the university. So when the advertisement had been placed for someone to come play piano three nights a week for Ballet 206…he had jumped on it. Something that wasn’t wiping trays at the cafeteria or cleaning the auditorium after meetings and actually had _anything_ to do with music was amazing. 

 

Nevermind he didn’t know the first thing about dance. 

 

The first few classes he had pretty much just stared at the keys until he heard the instructor cue him to start playing, too nervous to do much beyond make sure he was ready with the music and sneak glances here and there. But once he got more familiar with the pacing of the class (and once he convinced the instructor—Ms. Savel—to give him _all_ the scores the class used so he could practice them), he started to observe more.

 

Ballet had never really been his thing. He appreciated the necessary discipline, and would be the first to say it was a beautiful spectacle…but it just wasn’t _his_ type of spectacle. His mother had taken them to the Nutcracker for Christmas once, when his sister was going through her ballet phase. But beyond that he hadn’t really ever paid attention to the world of dance, much less known about the different disciplines within the broader term. After he had gotten the job, Ms. Savel had given him a list of things to read up on, and as such he new knew that within “dance” there were things like Ballet, Jazz, Modern (some people lumped Lyrical into Modern, apparently that was a bone of contention). He also now knew the basic foot positions, the basic competitions of dance routines, and most importantly, the types of music that was generally used in each type of dance.

 

Three nights a week for two hours a night, he would sit and play whatever was asked of him, over and over. The repetition meant it was less stimulating than he had originally hoped, but it was definitely improving both his piano abilities and his grasp on rhythm and timing. Ms. Savel had the uncanny ability to know exactly what meter she wanted him to play in, and to know if he was even a millisecond off. He had been the recipient of a few of her tongue-lashings, and had caught a few sympathetic glances from the students. But other than that, he had settled in well, and his fingers flew over the keys now with an ease that pleased him, and left him time to watch.

 

In particular, to watch this one guy…

 

He was all lean muscle and tanned skin, with a surprising number of tattoos. Liquid brown eyes and an easy laugh, shorter than some of the other male dancers but what he lacked in size he made up for in enthusiasm. He seemed to be some sort of leader, and after a few classes, Patrick figured out that he was actually a senior named Pete, and that he was helping out in this middling-level ballet class as community service for…something. But he was frequently the one who demonstrated techniques to the students, or who danced the lead parts of a routine. He was a goofball, unlike some of the more staid dancers who looked like they were constantly on the verge of crying with seriousness. He joked, made ridiculous faces, and loved to prank the other students. 

 

Patrick couldn’t help but watch him at the close of Wednesday night’s class as Pete packed up his things and left, surrounded by a little gaggle of girls who were giggling and fawning over him as he told some story that was accompanied by crazy hand gestures. Turning off the light over the piano, he stood and stretched, wincing at the knots in his back. He needed to remember to stretch between numbers, otherwise he was going to turn into a hunchback. Not exactly one of his life goals… 

 

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he shut the door to the studio behind him and headed towards the exit, winding his way through the narrow hallways. Why his music theory class had to be at 6:05 in the morning was beyond him. The word _theory_ shouldn’t even be _thought_ that early in the morning. If he hurried home, he should be able to put in a solid three hours of work towards his midterm project and still get six hours of sleep. If only he could figure out that chord progression that had been bugging him…

 

Preoccupied with thoughts of notes and projects, he ran straight into Pete, and his bag collided solidly with Pete’s nuts.

 

He dropped to the ground with a strangled gasp, curling in on himself like a centipede. Patrick stood, horrified, for a long moment until his brain started working and he dropped to his knees next to Pete. 

 

“Oh my gosh, Pete! I’m so sorry! Are you—? Can I do anything?” He hovered his hand over Pete’s back, but considering he had been the one to do this to him, he doubted Pete would want him touching any other part of his body. Slowly, Pete unfurled and squinted up at Patrick with a look that held less hate than Patrick thought he deserved, all things considering. 

 

“Oh hey. You’re the piano guy, huh?” Pete rolled to his knees, and then just sat there for a moment, hand clutched protectively over his endowments. “Man, just because I dance doesn’t mean I don’t _have_ nuts, bro. Common misconception, but it’s just not true.” He gave Patrick a shaky smile, and then reached a hand out to rest on his knee. “Dude, stop looking like you just cut my leg off. It wasn’t pleasant but I’ll live, I promise.” 

 

Patrick nodded, finding his voice. “Yeah…I’m, god I’m so sorry. I was thinking about my midterm project and I just wasn’t watching where I was going. Is there anything I can do?” 

 

He nodded. “Yeah, help me stand back up?” Patrick scrambled to his feet and then held out his hand. Pete took it, standing slowly and hissing. “Man, I’ll be feeling that for a bit.” Seeing the look of misery on Patrick’s face he grinned. “Oh stop it, dude. I’m fine. What’s your name?” 

 

“Patrick.” He pushed his glasses back onto his nose and held his hand out. 

 

Grasping it, Pete shook it firmly. “Well, seems like you already know my name. So why are you playing the piano for us?”

 

Looking down, Patrick dropped his hand, hoping he hadn’t held it too long. “Umm, there was a job listing for it. I’m a music student so anything that pays my bills and has to do with music is great by me.” He bent down and picked up his bag, and shifted awkwardly. Up close, Pete was even more gorgeous if that was even possible, and it was making his mouth feel like it was filled with cotton balls and his brains were jello. 

 

Nodding like he totally understood, Pete zipped his hoodie up. “I get that. You’re awful pretty to be tucked away behind a piano though! You should dance with us sometime!”

 

“Oh my gosh, no.” The worlds came out in a rush, and Patrick could feel himself blushing. “I mean…thank you, but I don’t like being in front of people.” Backing away, he gave Pete what he hoped was a sincerely apologetic look. “I’m really sorry for running into you like that. I’ll watch where I’m going next time, promise.” 

 

Pete’s smile was easy. “No worries. I’ll see you around, Pat…?” 

 

His name came out with a question mark, and Patrick shook his head violently. “Patrick.”

 

Pete gave him a grin that could only be described as _shit-eating._ “See you around, Pattycakes.” 

 

For some reason, Patrick’s stomach filled with butterflies rather than it’s usual response of clenching in anger at nicknames.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody wants to be friends after you knee them in the nuts...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some musing, some background, some pining. All build up, I promise!

 

After their less-than-perfect first meeting, it wouldn’t have surprised Patrick if Pete never spoke to him again. He _had_ nailed him in the balls, after all, and that’s not really a great way to start off anything. 

 

Apparently Pete’s mind didn’t function on the same lines as everyone else, because he seemed to be _more_ interested in Patrick because of it. The class after their erstwhile introduction, Pete’s face had lit up when he saw him seated behind the piano. _Hey, Pattycakes!_ He had chirruped happily as he set his things down by the piano, and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, _Don’t you worry. My balls are just fine._ Patrick had sputtered and glanced around, hoping nobody heard. 

 

Then had started the endless requests to dance with him that went on for weeks. Pete would leap across the room, or spin in an endless circle of pirouettes, or sometimes he would _slide on his tights_ over to the piano like an idiot…but it always ended in him asking Patrick to come dance with them. Which Patrick steadfastly and adamantly declined. Several times he had shouted across the room _Patrick, come on! We don’t need tunes like we need you!_ To which Patrick would only duck behind the piano and keep playing, trying not to die of embarrassment. 

 

It was damn inconvenient that he _would_ love to dance with Pete. Just he was pretty sure it wasn’t in the way Pete was thinking.

 

He’d realized he was gay when he was 14…and he blamed his introverted ways for the late start. Never one to really talk a lot to anyone, much less girls, he didn’t know the reason he liked to look at Bobby Shriever while he talked…he didn’t really think about it. But the first time he felt butterflies in his stomach was when Bobby talked _to_ him…and then he’d gone home and locked himself in his room with his computer and googled until he had figured it out. His mother hadn’t been surprised, and had only kissed his forehead and said that anyone he loved was the luckiest person in the universe, boy or girl. After that…well, it wasn’t something that really changed a lot of his life—he really only talked to people about music anyways, and it wasn’t like he was a social butterfly or anything. The people who didn't care...didn't care. The ones who did, well. It was nothing new to Patrick to be an outcast, a weirdo, or alone.

 

Pete on the other hand…while statistically he knew more than half men in ballet were gay (no, the only reason he knew that was because he was going to an arts college) he wasn’t sure about Pete. The tanned dancer was always surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and he seemed to flirt with them harder than a junior at prom night. Patrick had never seen him give even a modicum of attention to the men in the class. Which broke his heart, but hey…it also didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance. 

 

A chance he liberally fantasized about. Especially when he had six hours a week to watch Pete’s sinuous body float over the floor, or watch the muscles of his arms work as he lifted a ballerina over his head and imagine what those arms would feel like wrapped around him. His honey-colored eyes sparkled when he laughed, and Patrick would wonder if he kept them open when he kissed. But…Pete was clearly popular, and who knew if he was into guys? Particularly pasty white, short, slightly-pudgy musicians who had kneed him in the balls right off the bat. 

 

One Friday night as he was packing up the sheet music, he was startled out of his thoughts by a loud crashing jangle on the keys. Lifting his head, he saw Pete _sitting_ on the piano grinning like there was no better seat in the house. 

 

“Umm…yes?” Patrick pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. 

 

“So. Why won’t you dance with me?” The grin got wider. “Since you’re apparently not into public declarations, I figured that I’d try this way.” 

 

Patrick gave him a dubious look. “I don’t dance. I’m a music student, remember?” 

 

“Nuh-uh.” Pete held up an accusatory finger. “That is totally not true. You _actually_ _can_ dance. I saw you at the club last Saturday.” 

 

Now it was Patrick’s turn to pin him with an accusing glare. “What, are you following me or something?”

 

“Not even close, Pattycakes.” Pete ran a hand through his hair. “I DJ down there some weekends. So I saw you.”

 

“You DJ? Really?” 

 

Pete glared. “Yeah, is that so hard to imagine? Just because I dance doesn’t mean I only listen to classical shit and spend all my time in my room practicing spotting. Sheesh, stereotyping much?” 

 

“Defensive, much?” Rolling his eyes as he stood, Patrick shook his head. “Fine, so you DJ and you saw me dancing. The only reason that happened was because it was my birthday and I was tanked. That still doesn’t mean I fit into your ballet class—in this, or any universe—so quit asking me.” 

 

“Ballet not your thing, huh?” Pete grinned. “That’s okay, it’s not really mine either.” 

 

That took him aback. “Really? Then why…?” Patrick trailed off.

 

“Why am I here? Extra credit, community service, whatever you want to call it. I help Ms. Savel with her problem children and I get a boost on my grades and don’t get expelled.” Pete cocked his head in a contemplative way and slid off the piano with another tuneless cacophony. “This is a shitty place to tell you my life story. How about we go grab a drink? A bunch of us are going to O’Riley’s in a hour.”

 

His heart had skipped a beat when he thought Pete was asking him out…but at the mention of others, it sunk just as quickly, and he shook his head. “I’ve got a huge composition piece due on Monday and I haven’t even started it yet.”

 

“Come on…it’s Friday night! You gotta live a little! Or—“ Pete gave him a knowing leer. “—is that code for your girlfriend has you on a short leash?” 

 

Patrick could feel the color flooding his cheeks. “Umm…no. I really do have to do homework. And I don’t have a girlfriend.” Shouldering his bag, he gave Pete what he hoped was a pleasant smile. “Thanks for the invite, though. I’ll see you Monday.” Pushing past the slightly-taller man, he didn’t turn around for Pete’s farewell _Catch you on the flip side._ His heart was beating too fast, as the instant of hope throbbed in his heart like a splinter. He was an idiot to think Pete would want to just hang out with just him. Besides, seriously. Patrick Stumph, sitting with a bunch of Pete’s gorgeous dancer friends and listening to them yak about spins and diets and tights and…whatever else dancers talked about? Sure, he’d fit right in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete ponders how to get Patrick to go out with him, and get some sage advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay in updating...one of my other WIPs grabbed me by the figurative nuts and wouldn't let me go! But I'm back and I'll do my best to update again soon! <3 Thanks for reading and all the love!!!!

 

 

Pete sat in his apartment, drinking a beer and wondering. Commiserating. Pondering. Whatever. He could hear his instructors bitching at him for drinking beer, their cries of “carbohydrates!” echoing in his ears, but he frankly didn’t care. Not when there were more important things on his mind. He was DJ’ing again tonight and its not like that was particularly hard to do…not when you were an audiophile like he was. But apparently it _was_ hard to get a certain musician to wake the fuck up to what he was trying to do…

 

He shook his head, wondering if the answer would just rattle itself out of a crack in his brain somewhere. If he was being honest, he’d never had such a hard time before getting someone to pay fucking attention to him. Usually it just took a few smiles, a few charming statements, a few winks and he was golden. But this Patrick guy…he wasn’t sure what he could do to be more obvious that he was interested. Pete had seen the flash of… _something_ on his face when he had asked him to go to the bar….but then had said no. Shit but that was puzzling. 

 

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, smiling when he saw who was on the other side. “Mikey!!! What’s good dude?” 

 

“Oh you know. Just being fucking brilliant.” The young man’s voice sounded tinny through the phone, but hey…it was still a nice thing to hear. “Did you hear that new shit that…” The conversation flowed smoothly between them, Mikey telling Pete about this new band he heard, and how amazing they were, and soon they were deep into debating the comparative influences of Prince and Michael Jackson on pop culture. 

 

“Hey Mikey, so question.”

 

The eye roll was practically audible through the phone. “What, dumbass? The temple of wisdom is open for business.” 

 

Pete grinned at his friend’s drawling tone. “So I met this guy. He’s a music student and he plays piano for the ballet classes that I volunteer in.” 

 

“You mean the classes you bitch incessantly about having to do to avoid expulsion?” 

 

Pete waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, even though he knew Mikey couldn’t see it. “Yeah that one. But this guy, he’s like…totally…” He petered off trying to think of how to explain the magnetism that drew him to the guy. 

 

“You’re head over heels for him and want to have lots of sex and babies?” As always, Mikey knew how to cut to the chase.

 

“Yeah, something like that. But he won’t fucking hang out with me. What the hell?”

 

“Well…” Mikey paused for a moment, considering, and Pete could almost hear the wheels spinning. “What have you asked him out to do?” 

 

“I dunno. I keep pestering him to dance with me, asked him to go our with us to the bar last Friday…he keeps turning me down.”

 

“Let me ask you this.” Mikey paused. “What does this guy look like? You said he’s a music student?”

 

“Yeah, he’s like…super pale and kinda shy, and he wears glasses, just a twinge shorter than me and way nerdy, and oh my God he has these _lips—“_

 

 _“—_ Okay, okay I got the picture. So totally your type.” Mikey interrupted. 

 

Pete couldn’t resist. “I’m pretty sure my type is breathing.” 

 

“Fair.” Mikey’s unquestioning acceptance of his general ability to fall for anything made him feel warm inside for some strange reason. “But anyways, did you ever like think that he might be intimidated to hang out with you dance freaks? I mean if he’s shy, he’s probably not interested in jumping into a bar-full of pretty prissy folks who only know classical music.”

 

“Good point.” Pete considered. “So what do I do? Show up at one of his music classes and sit in the back and stare at him like a creeper?” 

 

Mikey laughed, quick and sharp. “Not like that would be out of character for you…but you need to find a level playing ground, somewhere he won’t be out of place or at a disadvantage. I mean, you gotta think low-threat dude, if this guy is shy.”

 

“Good point. This is why I keep you around.” 

 

“Awh, it’s not because I’m so cute?” Mikey’s voice was light and teasing. 

 

“Hey, like you said. My type is breathing so who knows?” Pete grinned. “Seriously dude. I don’t know how you became a fuckin’ Jedi Master and shit, but you’re the best.” 

 

They talked for a while after that, but soon enough something called Mikey away, and Pete was left with his thoughts. What was a level playing ground? Obviously it wasn’t dance class. Would asking him out to coffee be too blatant? Nah…blatant was what he did best. He just needed a location that was low-threat enough that he could actually gauge Patrick’s response. Plus, who knew if he was even into guys? 

 

His phone buzzed at him, and he looked down to see the notification he had set up for himself: _LEAVE NOW IDIOT OR YOULL BE LATE._

 

Jumping up, he grabbed his keys and wallet and bolted out the door.

 

~//~

 

Music pumping through his veins was one of the greatest feelings in the world. It’s why he danced after all—he had thought of majoring in music but quickly found out he couldn’t sing worth anything…so this was the best way he could surround himself with music, submerse himself in it, make it become part of him. Plus, it turns out with a bit of instruction he was actually a good dancer.

 

Standing in the DJ booth, swaying to the music he was feeding into the club’s speakers, he couldn’t help but smile. This was _fun._ Picking music for the kids on the dance floor to groove to was awesome…making the swell of bodies writhe and shake, humping and gyrating with various levels of coordination. 

 

Except for one. 

 

Pete’s eyes caught on the figure standing against the back wall, mostly shadowed from the glaring lights and strobes, but the occasional flash would illuminate a pale face framed by light hair and blocky glasses. He was wearing the opposite of club clothing—black skinny jeans with his typical cardigan unbuttoned over a ombre button-up shirt. He was cradling a plastic water cup like it would protect him and kept glancing at the dance floor like he was looking for someone.

 

Oh man…somebody somewhere was looking out for him today.

 

He kept an eye on Patrick for the rest of the night, watching as a gaggle of drunk girls pulled him out to the dance floor despite his obvious protestations. A twinge of something coiled below Pete’s heart as he wondered if one of the girls was Patrick’s girlfriend…but it became readily apparent that he wasn’t really attached to any of them. He stood in the bundle of girls and had a look of bewilderment and fear on his face that Pete would normally associate with public speaking or jumping into a pit of snakes. He couldn’t help but laugh at how uncomfortable Patrick looked, awkwardly swaying in the knot of sequins and skirts and curled hair. Eventually he “danced” his way out, and returned to his spot on the wall. Pete begged all the music gods to make him stay there until his set would be over and Dylan took the booth.

 

Luckily, his replacement was early, and Pete almost wanted to kiss him when he opened the door. He was out of the booth like lightning, pausing only to yammer a quick summary of the tracks he’d played before throwing a quick _okayhavefunthanksfortakingoverbye!_ and dashing out. He made his way to the back wall, going directly through the floor and dancing his way across. When he emerged from the swell of bodies, Patrick was looking down, picking at something on the hem of his sweater and not paying any attention to the chaos around him. 

 

He started when Pete tapped him on the shoulder, and he could have sworn a blush worked its way across Patrick’s cheekbones…though it could have just been the lights.

 

“Having fun?” 

 

Patrick’s only response to that was only a wry grin and a shake of his head. “Are you DJ’ing tonight?” He shouted, trying to get Pete to hear him over the pulsing music. 

 

He nodded, smiling bigger. “Yeah but I’m done for now. Why weren’t you out there dancing to my beats?” 

 

Patrick said something, but Dylan had put on a particularly loud track with sizzling drops, and their words were drowned out in the shaking of the beat. Pete grabbed Patrick’s arm and pulled him towards the exit door. His sweater was soft and worn and he wondered distantly how long he had owned it. Then they were outside in the crisp fall night, and the silence was suddenly very, very loud. Part of Pete’s brain told him this was a totally _corny_ thing to think, but Patrick’s skin pretty much _glowed_ in the wan moonlight that filtered into the alley, and his lips were a sinfully full pink color. Pete pulled his mind away and focused on his objective, telling himself _first things first, dumbass!_

 

“So, like I was saying, why weren’t you out there dancing to my incredible music?” 

 

Patrick shuffled a bit but his smile was easy. “I told you…I only dance when I’m really drunk. And I told the girls that I would drive them back…No drinking means no dancing.” 

 

 _That explains the water._ Pete thought. “Well, that’s really nice of you but a shame for me. I was excited to see you throw down again.” 

 

There was _definitely_ a blush on Patrick’s cheeks now and he resumed looking at whatever had held his interest on the hem of his sweater. Pete couldn’t resist asking him the question that had been occupying most of his lucid thoughts lately. “So was one of those girls your girlfriend or something? Is that why you’re DD’ing them or—“ 

 

“No, no…God no.” Patrick cut him off hurriedly, “They’re just my classmates in Music Theory, and we found out today that we passed our midterm. They wanted to come celebrate and since I got drunk the last time we went out, I figured it was my turn to be the sober one.” 

 

Only part of Pete’s mind was listening to his explanation. The other part was jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store at the adamant way Patrick had protested any of the _girls_ were with him. He decided to jump off the cliff—after all, what did he have to lose? Hadn’t he been hoping for a chance like this?

 

“Got it. Well…you want to go get coffee with me in the morning?”

 

His eyes widened fractionally, and Pete didn’t miss the way Patrick’s eyes darted down to his mouth for a second. His brows knitted together just a bit, and he tilted his head to the side with an expression that looked almost hopeful. It reminded Pete somehow of an owl sizing up a squirrel before it swoops down and snatches it up, only about a thousand times more adorkable. “Like…a date?”

 

Pete’s heart leaped at the word coming out of Patrick’s mouth first, and opened his mouth to say _absolutely! I mean if you want it to be_ —

 

But then one of the girls in Patrick’s little group stumbled out of the door, and fell against Patrick, moaning and dry heaving. He grabbed her before she crumpled to the ground and moved to the edge of the curb. Gently he lowered her down, and she crumpled to the pavement just before she started to vomit. He pulled her hair back from her face and whispered reassurance in her ear as he gave Pete an apologetic smile. The other girls came out then, a few still dancing and laughing but then they turned into a cooing mess of reassurance around the girl emptying her stomach. One of them started pulling at Patrick’s arm that she was tired and wanted pancakes, and with a sigh that Pete could hear from where he stood, Patrick nodded. He looked over at Pete and gave him a resigned and ironic smile. 

 

“Eleven o’clock at Rockin’ Grounds?” 

 

Pete nodded, and grinned as Patrick rounded up the girls and started to herd them towards the parking lot. Just before he turned to go inside, he heard one girl giggle out in the slurring honesty of the truly wasted, “Oh my God, Patrick are you going on a date with him?! He’s so _hot!”_

 

Patrick didn’t look back, but Pete could have sworn he saw a bright red blush creeping down his pale neck as he answered in a low voice. “He is…isn’t he?”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Coffee Shop Date you've all been waiting for =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it took me forever to update...I've been madly working on my other AU and it just refused to let go, plus I was kinda stuck with this one. BUT I am now super excited to finish this one up, so thank you for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!!

 

Pete pulled his attention from his iced mocha with whipped cream and charmed drizzle and looked at his phone…11:07am. 

 

He took another sip and sat back, trying to not freak out about the idea that Patrick was standing him up. I mean, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would do that. Maybe one of the girls from last night got alcohol poisoning or maybe he had forgotten to set an alarm this morning. Now that he thought about it, though…Patrick had been the one to set the time for their meeting, it was a lot later than Pete would have picked. Maybe he didn’t really want to get coffee, maybe he was going to make up an excuse on Monday at class about his dog dying or something, maybe he’d _quit playing for them…_

 

“Hey.” 

 

Pete’s head shot up to see Patrick dropping into the chair across from him, what looked like plain coffee cradled in his hands. 

 

“I thought you were standing me up, dude!” 

 

That lovely blush spread across Patrick’s cheeks. “No, I’m sorry. I was up super late getting the girls to bed and I guess I didn’t set enough alarms. I’m uh, definitely not a morning person.” But then he looked at Pete curiously. “So wait, this is a date then?” He took a sip. “Because when someone’s late to just grab coffee with a friend, they usually don’t say _stood up.”_

 

“Ummm…well, yeah, I mean, we were kinda interrupted by your friend last night when we were talking about this, but of course I want this to be a date, Pattycakes. Why do you think I’ve been flirting with you and asking you to come hang out for the last like three weeks?” He couldn’t help but be satisfied by the shocked look on Patrick’s face, and the way his mouth was hanging open just the littlest bit. 

 

“You were flirting with me?” 

 

“Duh.” Pete took a long sip of his deliciously icy beverage. “What did you think I was doing?” 

 

“I don’t know…being obnoxious?” 

 

Pete couldn’t quite hold back a snort at that. “Well…yeah, I mean, that’s just part of my allure.” He gave Patrick his best, thousand-watt grin. “But I mean, I’ve totally been into you since _before_ you hit me in the nuts.” 

 

The blush had turned into a full-out _blush_ now, and Patrick was looking at him if he couldn’t decide if he was crazy or not. “So was I.” His eyes widened. “I mean, I was into _you_ before I ran into you, I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was _into myself_ , that’s just weird—“

 

Laughing, Pete reached across the table and put a hand over Patrick’s. “Dude. Calm down, I get it. We’re both into each other.” He squeezed encouragingly before letting go and sitting back. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself. What are you studying in music, exactly?” 

 

So Patrick told him…he was almost 20 and a junior, had graduated early and gotten into the school and it was his dream to be a songwriter and produce music someday. He had two siblings, his parents were divorced, and he was the baby. He was totally, blissfully, wonderfully into guys, and his last relationship had been almost a year ago with a fellow music student—a guy named Michael who was a jazz saxophone player. It hadn’t worked out (Michael had cheated on him with a female study partner), and he’d been single ever since. He loved soul and folk and pop, and he wanted to have a house big enough someday to have a room for all his records. Pete was pretty sure he was falling in love.

 

“How did you get into dance?” Patrick asked after sitting back down from getting a refill. 

 

“Well, I actually started out as a music student. But I can’t sing for crap, and I’d always been really into like hip-hop. So I switched and turns out I’m not horrible at it. I’m majoring in hip-hop and Afro-latin dance, actually.”

 

“Afro-Latin dance?” Patrick looked confused. 

 

“Yeah dude, it’s awesome. I took a class my freshman year just because it fit into my schedule and my mom’s Jamaican, so I figured it’d make her happy. Turned out its like the best thing ever, and it got me out of my hip-hop-only groove.” He sucked loudly the last bit of whipped cream from the bottom of his cup. “From that I got into Lyrical, which I actually really like, and yeah. Here I am.” 

 

Patrick turned a contemplative gaze on him, cocking his head to the side in an adorable movement that made him look like a cocker spaniel or something considering a toy. “So what do you plan to do with yourself when you grow up?”

 

He couldn’t help the laugh that shot out of him at that. “Well, I doubt I’ll ever _grow up_. I’m kinda eternally immature.” He spun the empty cup a bit on the table, suddenly nervous. “I…I don’t really tell a lot of people this? Because I guess most of them find it hard to imagine me doing something like this, cause of what a wreck I was when I was younger…” He trailed off and looked up at Patrick, half-expecting to see judgment in his eyes, but all that was there was interest and expectancy. “I actually want to start up some sort of dance school for inner-city kids here in Chicago. I wish I had known how to get some of this…junk out when I was younger and put it in something constructive like dance, rather than the idiotic shit I got into.” 

 

Patrick’s voice was soft and kind when he spoke, and a pale hand came over the table to cover his own. “I think that’s really neat of you.” 

 

Unreasonably glad that his gamble with honesty had paid off, Pete grinned. “So what kind of instruments do you play? Or are you a vocal student?” 

 

Patrick shook his head. “I can sing but don’t if I can help it. Drums are my favorite, I really love any kind of percussion. But I can play the guitar, a bit of bass, trumpet, and piano.” 

 

Lifting an eyebrow, a delightful thought struck Pete. “Drums huh? Like, what kind of drums?” At the invitation, Patrick launched into a passionate discussion of all the types of percussive instruments he’d played, which his favorites were, a hysterical anecdote of when he had woken up the neighbors once playing late, and a short dissertation on how percussive elements made the music, not the other way around. Pete danced a bit on the inside at the passion in Patrick’s voice—this just might work. Once he paused for breath, Pete cut in smoothly. “So…I have a perfect idea for our next date.” Patrick’s eyes widened a bit at that, but he remained blessedly silent. “Some of my Afro-dance buddies and I meet up on Thursday nights to just mess around and work on random shit. Its really just an excuse for us to be shirtless and go nuts, but you should totally come. We only dance to drums and there’s always a couple different kits in there but we never have anyone to play for us, so we end up just using recorded shit. But you could like…bang out whatever you wanted and we’d like love it.”

 

Patrick’s eyes shone. “What kind of drums?” 

 

“Honestly, I’m not sure, I don’t pay attention that much but I know there are a lot of them in there. It’s like a drum graveyard….why don’t you come find out?” 

 

The younger man looked down at the table, picking at where someone had engraved their initials and then looked back up. “Wouldn’t having me be…weird?” Pete realized in that moment that all the looks he had been giving him, all the flashes of interest that had been buried under that _something_ he couldn’t figure out for the last few weeks…it was doubt. Patrick was _doubting_ that Pete was actually interested in him. 

 

“Dude. I’m seriously…are you like actually asking that? They’d all love just to have you play, never mind you’re like super awesome!” Patrick blushed in earnest at that, and Pete shook his head. “Is that why you’ve been refusing to hang out with me?” His date looked down at the initials again, tracing them with a blunt fingernail, and Pete decided that it was time to go to DATECON 4 and _make shit happen._  

 

Scooting his chair around the round table so that he was sitting right next to him, Pete plunked himself down and took Patrick’s shoulders in his hands, making him meet his gaze. “I’m pretty sure you’re way smarter than this, but listen up: I like you. I don’t care that you aren’t, like, a tower of muscle—matter of fact I really like that. So I want you to keep saying yes to going on dates with me, and I want you to get used to the fact that you’re going to give me your number and I’m going to text you incessantly. Got it?” 

 

His eyes were wide and fixed on Pete’s, and something flitted across his face…It was solemn and weighty, but also expectant and just a little bit excited. Pete could practically _see_ Patrick rolling his words around in his brain, letting them sink in and blossom into a small smile that tucked up the corner of his mouth.

 

_Patrick’s mouth._

 

Nobody had ever accused Pete of being anything but straightforward…but he had been told many times that he was a _grand gesture_ kinda guy. So he did the only polite thing he could think of, and cupped Patrick’s face in his hands, noting distantly the incredible softness of his cheeks. 

 

“And now, because this is a _real_ date, I’m going to kiss you unless you stop me.” 

 

Desperately hoping he wouldn’t stop him, that wasn’t making a huge mistake, grossly miscalculating their intentions and dooming this thing they had before it even began, Pete leaned in to press his lips to Patrick’s. 

 

For a split second, they were still against his but _oh God_ were they soft. Then Patrick melted against his mouth, his hand coming up to cup Pete’s face, the other curving around the back of his neck to nestle softly into his hair. Pete trembled slightly at the lightning that seemed to shoot down his spine at the gentle touch, and he felt like he was being swept away by Patrick’s lips felt sliding so gently against his own.

 

He pulled away and was gratified to hear Patrick let out a small, shocked breath. Blue eyes opened and met his, and a small smile blossomed across his face. Pete pulled his hands away, and Patrick started to move his only to grab Pete’s and wrap his own hands around them, thumbs grazing softly over his knuckles. It felt _wonderful._

 

“Well…” Patrick’s voice was soft but held a new confidence. “I guess Thursday’s a date, then.” 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick continue to go on dates...and some frickle-frackle!!! <3

 

Patrick was—for once—on time. But that probably had something to do with the fact that he was meeting Pete at 6pm, rather than any time that could be qualified as _morning._ He stood, shuffling nervously at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the dance studios, and wondering if this was a horrible idea. 

 

But then Pete skidded in, smiling his million-megawatt smile, and Patrick’s heart skipped a beat at the honey skin and sparkling whiskey-colored eyes.

 

“Hey! Sorry, I got stuck behind a bus, _so annoying_.” Grabbing Patrick’s hand, he pulled him upstairs, talking a million miles a minute. “Come on, you’re gonna love it, I just know it. I told the guys you were going to come and they’re super stoked!” They tumbled through the doors and Patrick felt like he had died and gone to heaven—if heaven was filled with _DRUMS._

 

In the corner sat more drum kits than he’d seen outside a music store, and a bunch of other ones that he hadn’t really ever gotten to try but had always wanted to. Conga drums, a steel drum set, a big square cajon, and a couple that he couldn’t even name. He felt like a kid on Christmas. 

 

“Hey, so you’re Patrick?” 

 

A deep voice startled him out of his drooling, and Patrick suddenly remembered he wasn’t alone with the drums. He looked around to see eight or so guys, all shirtless and exotic and beautiful. Suddenly, he felt very pale and very short and very _white._  

 

“Umm…” 

 

Pete appeared again—shirtless—and wrapped his arms around him. “You bet it is, Ray! My super duper drum-tastic dude!” Patrick blushed, but then he was being pushed and pulled over by Pete to the corner with all the drums.

 

“Sit down man, play something! I know you want to!”

 

Pete grinned at him, and Patrick tried to contain his excitement as he perched on a slightly wobbly but otherwise perfectly good drum kit. Pete had texted him—amongst the five thousand other texts he’d sent to Patrick over the course of the two days since their first coffee shop date—several links to the types of drumming and music they danced to for this style, and Patrick had a general idea of what they needed to get things rolling. 

 

He laid down a tentative beat, consistent and pure, and then rolled into a bit more percussion, starting up with the kick drum and slowly adding in some snare. Pete was grinning at him like a kid on christmas, and then he _winked_ and held his hands out in a “is that all you’ve got?” gesture.

 

Well…if that just didn’t mean war.

 

They were there for almost two hours…and Patrick couldn’t remember the last time he had that much fun. He had played almost every kit in the room, bouncing between them and feeling the unadulterated joy of rhythm flowing through him. It was nothing short of perfect, the different strains and beats pumping through him and out into the echoing room. The guys danced like oiled gods to the rhythms Patrick was making, moving in ways that he had never seen. It was like martial arts, sword-fighting, dancing, and gymnastics all got together in a giant orgy and had a baby. It was primal, sensuous without being sensual, full of movements that practically oozed restrained power without seeming at all dominant. He could honestly say it was dancing that he was very happy to watch, and wouldn’t at all mind watching again…and that was saying something. 

 

It also helped that Pete had smiled at him the entire time—a beaming, rapturous grin that split his face and made him look positively _beautiful._ Patrick had watched his movements with undisguised attention—he was graceful, his body seemed to know exactly how to move with the music, to sway and shudder and flow in time with the beats. Never mind that body was literally the most gorgeous thing Patrick had ever seen. 

 

Apparently, Patrick was also now officially part of their dance troop. The guys had laughed and hugged him to their sweaty, naked chests afterwards, and said he was now honor-bound to play with them whenever he wanted. It made something warm blossom in his chest, to feel so accepted by these gorgeous specimens of humanity, despite the fact that he was a short, pale, slightly pudgy music nerd. 

 

Pete waited for all the others to leave, before pulling his shirt on and bending over the steel drums Patrick was sitting behind, and pressing a searing kiss to his mouth. If he had been holding drumsticks, Patrick was pretty sure he would have dropped them, but instead he took the opportunity to wind his hands into Pete’s springy hair and savor the way he tasted. His lips were soft, his movements sure, and it made something uncoils in his heart that he hadn’t even realized was there. 

 

A long moment later, Pete pulled away. “I told you you’d be amazing.” Patrick blushed, and looked down. 

 

“I really didn’t know what I was doing…it was just awesome to get to play all of these kits.” 

 

Pete shook a finger at him, giving him a look that reminded him of his mother when she had caught him with his hand in the box of oreos. “None of that now. You’re seriously a rhythmic god dude.” 

 

He blushed deeper and stood, coming out from behind the drums. “Well…this was basically the most fun I’ve had in a while.” He looked down at himself, at the way sweat had soaked through most of his shirt. “God, it looks like I was dancing with you guys.” 

 

The glint in Pete’s eye was unmistakeable. “I’ll get you to dance with me one of these days, Pattycakes. Just you wait.” Patrick shook his head, but they left the studio together, shutting the lights off as they went. 

 

~//~

 

Saturday found Pete sprawled on Patrick’s dorm room floor, eating the most incredible Top Ramen he’d ever had in his life, and listening to a lecture on the comparative influences of David Bowie and Frank Sinatra on pop culture. After shoving in another mouthful, he rolled his eyes. 

 

“Okay, I’ll give you that Bowie was a pioneer in both fashion and making music not just about the sound but also the presentation….but you _cannot_ convince me that there are elements of Sinatra in a Korn album.” He swallowed the bite down. “But before you tell me how wrong I am, seriously how did you make this shit? Do you have a fucking kitchen in your closet?” 

Rolling his eyes, Patrick shook his head. “No, I just have a hot pot. But you just have to put all the stuff in before you pour in the water, and let it all steep together. Almost like tea.” 

 

“Well, what stuff is in this magic brew then? Cause I seriously can never eat normal ramen again.” Pete shoveled another bite in his mouth and mentally cursed Patrick for using chopsticks to eat his Ramen and looking _so damn cute doing it._  

 

“Ummm…I don’t know. Whatever sounds good. I put sesame oil, red pepper flakes, ginger, curry and some soy sauce in for seasoning, and chopped up some zucchini and some of those carrot matchsticks.” 

 

Pete made an appreciative noise around the mouthful of noodles. Patrick took another bite, and Pete took the moment to stare at him. 

 

Porcelain skin, feathery hair the color of walnuts and honey that fell in an adorable fringe below the knit cap he had pulled over his head. Long eyelashes that framed beautiful eyes the color of seashores and sandy beaches kissed by sunshine, high cheekbones that gave just the right amount of definition to his face, sweeping down to the most gorgeous lips in the world. Pete was pretty sure that Patrick’s lips should be illegal in the state of Illinois as a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Because damn if they weren’t devastating.

 

“Umm…Pete?” Patrick’s voice cut through his musings, and he realized he had probably been staring like a super creeper. “You fall asleep or something? Did you know that there are like fourteen different mammals that can fall asleep with their eyes open?” 

 

“Oh my god, what is it with you and random facts?” Pete couldn’t help the braying laugh that slipped from him, and he hoped for a second that Patrick wouldn’t be offended. 

 

But he wasn’t, he simply gave Pete a superior glare down his nose and put another bite of ramen in his mouth. “I like trivia. Sue me.” It came out garbled, but Pete got the gist and rolled his eyes back. 

 

They finished their ramen, and Patrick sat on the bed and started fiddling around with his guitar—a beat up old thing that he held like it was his firstborn child. Strumming a bit, picking odd snatches of melody, he looked at Pete and took a deep breath…then he started to sing in a low voice with a faint blush across his cheeks.

 

_Now, I've heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

_It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth_

_The minor fall, the major lift_

_The baffled king composing hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

_Hallelujah_

 

A small part of Pete’s brain told him that he should shut his mouth, that it was undignified to sit there with your jaw on the floor as your crush sang your favorite song, and that he probably looked like the exact _opposite_ of sexy. But he couldn’t help it…Patrick’s voice was a river of velvet that wrapped him in a silken embrace. It was low, and it was full of soul and little tones that to Pete’s untrained ear sounded like magic, but most of all he sang like he _meant it._

 

When he finished the verse, Patrick looked up at him with uncertainty and embarrassment painting his face, and for a long moment, Pete puzzled at that. Wondered why in the world he wouldn’t sing to _everyone all the time_ , why he wasn’t a vocal student leading all the choir performances…and then it clicked. 

 

Patrick had no idea how amazing he was.

 

“That was incredible.” Moving with a shocking lack of fumbling and misplaced limbs, Pete set his bowl down and shuffled over to kneel in front of Patrick. “I thought you said you didn’t sing if you could help it?”

 

“I—I don’t. But I guess I wanted to. For you.” His eyes were wide and so, so  blue, full of caution as Pete pulled the guitar from his hands and set it carefully to the side. His cheeks were stained pink with trembling nerves, and he couldn’t have been more beautiful in his utter cluelessness. 

 

“You—“ Pete placed a soft kiss on Patrick’s forehead. “—Are.” He pressed another to his left cheek. “— _Incredible.”_ Then he was kissing Patrick’s mouth, feeling those lips that had unknowingly sang him the most amazing rendition of his favorite song part and a soft sigh leave the lungs that made air whistle through golden vocal cords. 

 

Patrick wrapped his arms around Pete and pulled him up from the floor, and Pete eagerly clambered up to press Patrick back onto the bed. They were cocooned among the sheets of music, half-empty notebooks and empty CD cases that were scattered across Patrick’s bed, but Pete didn’t care. All that mattered was the way Patrick’s arms felt wrapped around him, the softness of his body that was suddenly pressed fully against his own, the sinful things Patrick was doing with his mouth, and the soft breathy moans he was making. 

 

Then, to Pete’s everlasting delight, Patrick rolled his hips against Pete’s, and a wave of lust so blinding thundered through him that he thought he would die from it. 

 

It was like something had snapped between them, and suddenly they were kissing like they needed the others’ mouth to pull in oxygen as they fumbled with belts and boxers and buttons. Pete had Patrick’s pants shoved down to his knees and Patrick was doing the same, his hands hot against the skin of Pete’s stomach as he pulled at his belt and pushed his hands down his hips. He felt Patrick take a shuddering breath as Pete beat him to it and got his hand wrapped around his cock first. Patrick moaned and arched his back, breaking the kiss as he threw his head back, trying to get closer. Pete took the opportunity to look at Patrick—and he felt everything in him squeeze as he took in the perfection underneath him.

 

Normally Patrick was reserved, shy, always holding back a bit. But _this Patrick—_ he was wanton, he was unabashedly moaning with his full bottom lip bit between his teeth. A thin sheen of sweat painted his forehead, making him seem to glisten and Pete’s mind helpfully supplied that maybe that’s why all those teen girls were into those sparkly vampires and shit from that weird _Twilight_ book…because he could totally see the appeal now. Patrick’s pale skin seemed to glow, backlit by the most gorgeous color that stained his cheekbones. His eyes were squinted shut and his brows were knitted together in what could be mistaken as concentration in any other circumstance. Pete had never seen anything so beautiful. 

 

Breathy gasps fell from his mouth as Pete worked his surprisingly large cock—it filled his hand, dark and pulsing as he slid his thumb over the head, smearing the bead of moisture that he found there. Pete pressed a wet kiss to the junction of his neck and shoulder and Patrick cried out as he bit down with just a bit of pressure. His grip on Pete clenched like he had been shocked by a live wire and his hips bucked as he thrust up and gasped.

 

“Pete, Pete, oh my god, _Pete I—“_

 

He was pretty sure nothing in the world had ever sounded so amazing as his name falling from Patrick’s lips. Underneath him, Patrick’s thighs were starting to tremble, and suddenly Pete was overwhelmed with the _need_ to make this gorgeous creature finish, to make him shake apart and all he wanted in return was to hear his name fall from those _fucking lips_ as he did it. Pulling away, he looked down at him and worked his hand furiously, using every trick he knew.

 

“Patrick, come for me, you’re so fucking gorgeous, please, please I want to hear you, come on—“ 

 

It was like a wave crashed over Patrick as he came. His eyes snapped open the moment before, and Pete was distantly reminded of the look on his brother’s face when they had gone to Mexico one summer and a huge wave had knocked him over. Patrick’s eyes were wide and full of something Pete couldn’t quite decipher—need and shock and something almost like fear but totally opposite—a thin ring of blue just visible around his blown pupils. 

 

“ _Pete…”_ Patrick groaned his name as their eyes met for a brief moment. Then they were slamming shut as he curled up into Pete, mouth open as he wailed out his keening need as he came. 

 

Keeping up his motions but letting the tempo slow, Pete stroked him through the aftershocks, trying to prolong it for as long as he could. He could see when Patrick was spent, like the wave had washed over him leaving him limp and boneless with the shallow tide lapping at his legs. He couldn’t resist a final stroke as he wrapped his other hand around his own weeping cock, and seeing Patrick jerk and shudder with oversensitivity as he ran his thumb over the head was enough to make Pete’s orgasm blow through him like a hurricane. 

 

He must have tumbled down next to him in the white-hot flash of ecstasy, because when the haze of _holyfuckthatwasamazing_ faded from his brain, he found himself wrapped in Patrick’s arms. They were tight and soft around him, and one of his hands was tracing the most heavenly circles through Pete’s hair, massaging his scalp. If he thought it wouldn’t totally weird Patrick out, he would totally have purred like a cat at the amazing feelings that were trickling through him. 

 

Eventually, feeling and life trickled back into his body, and he tipped his head up to look at Patrick. Blue eyes were wide open and looking at him with contentment and satisfaction. 

 

“Would it be okay to say you rock my world, Pattycakes?” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes gently and moved to press a soft kiss to his lips, full of warmth and tenderness. “I’m pretty sure if anyone did any world-rocking, it was you.”

 

Pete snuggled closer, happiness suffusing him like he had just drank a long pull of whiskey. Patrick grunted a bit and fished around on the bed for something and Pete wondered what was so important to disturb their Very Important Cuddling. With a satisfied noise, Patrick found what looked to be a crumpled shirt and wiped them both clean. Then Patrick pulled Pete close and pressed a kiss to his forehead in a way that should have felt motherly but instead just felt _right._ His brain reminded him that they should talk about this, they had just gone from we’ve-gone-on-a-few-dates-and-I-think-you’re-cute to gasping-each-others-names-as-we-came in about ten minutes flat.

 

But he decided there would be time for that later, and he was pretty sure he fell in love as Patrick pronounced in a sleepy voice that left no room for argument that it was _cuddle and nap time._  

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick have "the talk." <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place right after the previous one =) It was just all too long to fit into one. Thanks to all who are still reading!!! <3

 

That talk about _what was that_ and _what are we_ and _holy shit can we do that again_ that Pete had promised himself they would have when they woke up was forestalled by Patrick’s phone ringing and pulling them both out of what he was pretty sure was the best nap of his life. Patrick mumbled a drunken-sounding _hello?_ that was followed by a few heartbeats of silence and then a _shit! I fell asleep, I’ll be right there._

 

In a tumble of arms and legs and elbows, Patrick fumbled out of bed, buckling his pants and pulling off his shirt. Pete was temporarily relived of the ability to speak as he saw Patrick’s smooth creamy back for a few seconds before he pulled on a clean one, much to his sadness. Pulling a button-up from the closet, Patrick gave Pete a shy smile, his eyes wide and full of apologies.

 

“I’m sorry, I totally forgot we had a meeting with our professor today about the Spring Showcase.” 

 

“It’s alright.” Pete beckoned him closer as he sat up, and Patrick approached, still doing the buttons up on his shirt. Reaching out, he smoothed Patrick’s hair down from where it was adorably rumpled and standing on end. “Can’t have you go out looking that sexed-up. I want that all to myself.” 

 

The shy smile widened a bit, and Patrick bit his lower lip all bashfulness and beauty and it made Pete’s heart skip a beat. “Sorry to run out on you. Can we, uh—“ He looked around, and grabbed a notebook from behind Pete and a couple rolls of sheet music that he was pretty sure he had been laying on. “Can we get coffee? Tomorrow, like eleven?” 

 

“Hell yeah.” Pete gave him a wide smile. “It’s a date.” 

 

Patrick moved to the door, but then ran back just as quickly. He pressed a long, lingering kiss to Pete’s lips that tasted of morning sunlight and afternoon winds. He couldn’t help but twist his fingers into the fine hair at the nape of Patrick’s neck, and sighed into his mouth in contentment. When he finally pulled away, Patrick’s cheeks were painted a light pink that suited him, in Pete’s humble opinion. He gave Pete another of those shy, beautiful smiles, and ran out. 

 

Collapsing back on the bed in a huff, Pete considered his Saturday. Awesome ramen, great conversation, one of the best orgasms of his life, and now—he looked around—he was alone in Patrick’s room.

 

It was definitely true that Pete Wentz was a bit of a stalker. It was endearing, adorable, and only a little creepy if you asked him, but he preferred to think of it more as _dedication_ than _obsession._

 

Sitting up, he began to move through the room. Patrick obviously was a bit of a neat-freak, in a delightfully unorganized way. Most of his clothes were hung up in the closet, and the records on the shelf were organized alphabetically. But there was musical detritus _everywhere—_ capos and picks and books and books on music theory, sheet music and pedals for sound kits. There was a Bowie poster on the wall, as well as one for _Ghostbusters_. A couple pictures were tacked up next to the head of the bed, so Patrick could ostensibly see them when he woke up. They were all—Pete guessed—of his family. They all looked similar, and Pete could see where Patrick got his looks and his trademark smirk. His smile was shy but he looked contented, happy, snugged up next to his mother. 

 

With a grin, Pete left and locked the door behind him. The Spring Showcase had given him an idea…

 

~//~

 

“Mmmmhmmmm…” Cecelia gave him a look that was far too knowing for comfort. “You were _sleeping?”_ He sighed, hoping against hope he wasn’t flushed _too_ pink. 

 

“Have you met me? I love sleeping more than pretty much anything. It ties with music half the time.” He hoped that was enough to throw her off, because the group was well aware of how much he slept. It had become a running joke after the first few times he showed up to their 6:55am Music Theory class looking like he’d been hit by a bus. 

 

“You know you’re a horrible liar, Patrick.” Cecilia tapped a pink-polished finger against her lips. “Ooooohhhh I’ve got it. So you _were_ sleeping…but not alone. Tell me I’m wrong?” 

 

Now Patrick was sure that his cheeks were on fire, because that seemed to be the signal for the three four girls in the group to fall on him squealing and giggling. “We are _not_ talking about this right now.” He gave a meaningful look towards where their professor was standing, giving them a look that seemed to be half _kids_ and half _why am I here?_

 

Cecelia grinned, and nodded. “Okay. Music first, details after.” She winked at him, and he was reminded once again why she was the ringleader o their little bunch. “But if it’s who I think it is, I cannot _wait_ to hear where this is going!” 

 

Moving over to their professor, Patrick realized he needed to figure out that answer for himself first.

 

~//~

 

At 11:03am the next morning, Patrick stumbled into the coffee shop. He liked this one because it played classic rock instead of the usual Norah Jones and Michael Buble. Not that there was anything wrong with those artists—heaven and his roommate both knew that he would croon along with Norah in the shower—but he liked the atmosphere that a constant stream of Aerosmith, Guns ’N Roses and Metallica fostered. Plus if this went down in flames...he wouldn't want to be listening to a love song, that's for sure.

 

Grabbing his cup of black coffee and giving the barista a smile that he hoped wasn’t either still-asleep or serial-killer-ish, he headed over to where Pete was grinning at him from the table by the window. He plunked into his seat, took a deep gulp of the coffee, and set it down purposefully. 

 

“Okay, if you don’t mind I have something I need to say before I wake up enough to re-convince myself to chicken out.” Pete only nodded mutely, eyes wide behind the perfectly-smudged eyeliner, and Patrick firmly pushed away thoughts of what those eyes had looked like the day before, wide and satisfied with Patrick’s arms wrapped tight around that gorgeous body as they both tried to come down from the sparkling wave of pleasure. He had thought about what he was going to say for most of the evening the night before, and he hoped to God that he could just get it out of his mouth in one go. “So yesterday was…really awesome.” It sounded lame when he put it that way, because it had been more than awesome, it had been _blindingly amazing_ but he plunged on. “And I’ve had more fun than I can really tell you in all the time we’ve spent together. You’re like…way more than meets the eye, and I’ve had a lot of fun. But I—“

 

“Are you breaking up with me before I even get the chance to ask you to be my boyfriend?” 

 

 _That_ stopped Patrick in his tracks. “Uhhh, I, you’re  _what?”_

 

Enthusiastically nodding so hard his bangs seemed to wave around like a flag in the wind, Pete fixed him with a liquid brown stare that seemed to take Patrick apart from the inside out. “Yeah, I’ve been like…wanting to ask you since the night you played drums for us, but it just never seemed to work out.” Pete looked down and circled his coffee cup rim in an oddly suggestive way that seemed totally unintentional as he looked back up at Patrick from beneath long, dark lashes. “But are you saying…I shouldn’t do that?” 

 

Distantly Patrick realized no sound was coming out of his mouth, even though he was totally moving his lips. Working a strangled cough from his throat, he shook his head. “No, I…I totally think you should. Because I was going to…ask you, but this—“ he waved an expressive hand between them, as if the waggling of his wrist could encompass the table, the coffee, the hand jobs and way they had gasped each others names and the crazy energy that seemed to shoot straight into his stomach every time Pete smiled at him. “—I’m not very good at this.” 

 

The world’s widest smile worked its way across Pete’s feet in an instant. “Well, then, let me, because I’m _very_ good at this.” He pushed his chair back and _actually got down on one knee_ and Patrick felt like his heart was going to explode as it tried to claw its way to his throat. Reaching into his back pocket, Pete pulled out two tickets. “Patrick Stump, will you please be my boyfriend, my one and only pile of sunshine and musical genius, and come to the Spring Dance Spectacular with me on Saturday?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Well, actually, you’ll be going with my friend Brendon, but you’ll totally love him, I promise. But I’ll be dancing, and I’d…really love for you to be there.” He was pretty sure that he should be miffed somewhere that their first official outing as boyfriends would be with _Pete’s friend_ , but the wide hopefulness in Pete’s eyes was enough to make him push that aside. Especially when Pete swallowed and finished him off with a quiet, “I’ve never invited anybody to them, not even my parents. It’s…kinda something that I’ve just never felt comfortable sharing with anyone, even people I’ve dated because I didn’t think they’d understand. But…I want you to come.” 

 

“Pete, yes, yes, holy shit.” He stood and pulled his _boyfriend_ up from the ground and into his arms, pressing his lips to Pete’s in a frantic, ecstatic kiss. He could feel Pete smiling, and it made his heart do a funny flip-flop thing as it beat a million miles an hour. 

 

There was a light dancing in Pete’s eyes that Patrick decided he liked when he pulled away. “So I should officially consider myself off the market then, lunchbox?” 

 

With an eye roll, Patrick pulled Pete’s hips flush with his own and whispered in his ear, smiling as he felt Pete shiver, “ _Very_ off the market, _boyfriend.”_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete's dance recital....and Patrick meets Brendon!

 

About midweek following their revelatory coffee date and the ensuing five million celebratory texts from Pete about how happy he was, how cute Patrick was, how many puppies they were going to adopt together, and where they should go on their honeymoon, Patrick got a text with a phone number, followed by < _thats brendons# he wnts 2 get coffee w/ u b4 the show. u will luv him, promise >_

 

Which is why, on a week when Pete was out-of-his-mind-busy with getting ready for the Spring Dance Spectacular, Patrick ended up on a friend-coffee-date with a stranger named Brendon…who possibly had more energy than Pete did, which prior to him plunking in the chair across from him, Patrick didn’t believe was physically possible.

 

“OhmygoshyourePatrickPeteseriouslywon’tshutthefuckupaboutyouitsawesometomeetyou!!!!” The words seemed to just tumble out of Brendon’s mouth at a speed that somehow was still comprehensible but exhausting. Patrick cast a speculative look at the coffee cup in Brendon’s hand—he apparently shared Pete’s love of frothy, sugary concoctions—and wondered if there was cocaine in it. 

 

But the cocaine theory dropped out of his mind as he and Brendon started talking. Patrick appreciated that this guy could seriously talk a blue streak that rivaled Pete’s, which let him just listen and get a feel before he had to try to say too much himself. But Brendon was a Theater major, and apparently was _ohmygosh in Love_ with Frank Sinatra, Prince, and Michael Jackson, and that sealed the deal…Patrick decided he and Brendon were going to get on just fine. They spent another hour discussing David Bowie in _Labyrinth_ and quoting it to each other, and then moved on to jazz, which apparently they both loved. Brendon also sang, and was in an A Capella group that Patrick had heard of on campus but never seen, and they argued whether Michael Buble counted as _jazz_ or not. 

 

As he walked out of the coffee shop, Patrick texted Pete on his way to practice. < _Pretty sure Brendon and I just became best friends. > _Pete’s response came a hour later, presumably when he was out of rehearsal < _omg told u! He’s ridiculous!!! > _

 

_~//~_

 

 

Patrick texted Brendon the day of the Spring Dance Spectacular asking what he should wear. Brendon’s response was unhelpful in its vastness, _< I mean, I’m wearing a steampunk getup that’s TOTALLY KILLER but I doubt ur into that. Idk, ppl will be there dressed in everything but…whatever u want. I guarantee nothing u wear will be out of place.>_

 

With that mournfully broad answer, Patrick deliberated and finally went with what he liked to wear to things like this, and he figured that hopefully Pete would like it too. Brendon showed up at his dorm door dressed in a totally outrageous outfit that also _totally_ suited him somehow, complete with a huge top hat and goggles, some sort of piece that went from shoulder to wrist on his right arm, eyeliner and what looked like confetti sprinkled liberally on the suit coat. Patrick looked down at his black pants, black shirt and grey vest, and felt decidedly _less fancy_. That didn’t stop Brendon from gushing. 

 

“Oh my gosh you look _stunning,_ Pete is going to _die,_ nowhurryupletsgo!” 

 

Brendon drove them the short distance to the Performing Arts Center, stating in a dramatic tone that would brook no argument _do you even know how much all this stuff weighs? No way I’m walking!_ They parked and headed in…and Patrick could feel his palms starting to sweat. It figured that directly after deciding to become a couple, Pete had the most insanely busy week of the semester and they hadn’t seen each other in over seven days. He knew that wasn’t _long_ in the scheme of things, but it sure felt long. What if Pete had changed his mind and didn’t know how to break it to him? What if he thought Patrick had dressed too formal? What if—

 

“Holy shit, babe.” Pete’s voice broke into his mad festival of self-doubt and panic, and Patrick looked up to see Pete dressed in a leotard and tights with…his pea coat and Ugg boots on? He couldn’t help but notice how Pete was looking him up and down, and that he was wearing more eyeliner than usual and _damn_ did it look good… _”_ Patrick, you look _amazing.”_

 

A blush worked its way across Patrick’s cheeks. “Th-thanks.” Before he could stop himself, he blurted out. “Are you seriously wearing Uggs?” 

 

Pete gave him his trademark million-watt grin. “Duh, dude. They’re the best for keeping your feet warm before you go on. Gotta stay _limber,_ you know?” He ended with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle that made something stir in Patrick’s stomach. But then Pete saw Brendon, and threw his head back laughing as he slipped an arm around Patrick’s waist. “Urie, you look ridiculous and I love it. Outfit’s coming along awesome, bro!” 

 

 _“_ Thanks, dude. The arm piece needs a bit more work but I love the hat.” Patrick smiled as Pete pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

 

“I’m gonna borrow my _boyfriend_ for a minute, Bren. You can have him back when I’m done with him.” Brendon only laughed and made a suggestive hand movement before practically _sashaying_ off into the crowd. Pete turned his full attention back to Patrick, and he was caught off guard by the way Pete _pulled_ him backstage behind what looked like a set piece of a giant dog house, and _kissed him_. For a moment, Patrick worried they’d be found, worried they’d be in the way…but then Pete’s tongue flitted across his lips and he decided he didn’t care. He hadn’t seen Pete in a _week_ and _damn_ if his mouth wasn’t the best thing in the universe. 

 

When he finally pulled away, teeth scraping across Patrick’s lower lip gently, the air settled between them into something warm and safe and excited. Patrick smiled and ran his thumb across Pete’s cheek, and he nuzzled his palm like a cat. “I missed you.” 

 

“Oh my gosh, I missed you so bad babe, I’m so sorry that—“ Patrick pressed another kiss to Pete’s mouth, silencing his apology. Moaning a bit, Pete leaned into him, and then pulled away quickly. “Dude, as much as I want to continue, the jock-strap-from-hell will seriously demolish me if you get things going right now.” Patrick couldn’t help the involuntary way his eyes darted to Pete’s crotch. As he should have expected, Pete threw his coat back with flourish to give him an unobstructed view, and Patrick felt his mouth go dry a bit at the bulge still visible. 

 

“I—I’ll leave that ‘till later then.” Patrick was going for suave, teasing, flirtatious…but he was pretty sure that it came out more like sexually-frustrated-awkward-music-student. Pete didn’t seem to care, however, if the way he sucked in his breath was any indication. 

 

“I’ll hold you to that, Pattycakes. I’m all yours once this damn thing is over.” 

 

Patrick grinned, but then his smile softened, and he leaned close. “I can’t wait to see you. I know you’re going to do awesome.” 

 

The answering smile on Pete’s face made Patrick’s heart skip a beat. It was pure sincerity and unadulterated hope. “You think so?” 

 

Nodding, Patrick wrapped the coat back around his boyfriend’s hips and buttoned it to keep it in place. “I know so.” He pressed a final kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you afterwards, okay?” 

 

Someone hissed Pete’s name, and Patrick scampered away to find his seat by Brendon, lips still tingling from Pete’s kisses. 

 

~//~ 

 

The first number Pete was in was a ballet piece. After seeing the carefree joy on his face when they would mess around with the Afro-Latin guys, Patrick could tell that Pete’s heart wasn’t really in it. Still, he looked light as a feather, lifting the ballerinas like they were weightless—the picture of strength and composure. 

 

After that were three more numbers—a flamenco piece, an interpretive number with a male and female dancer that he didn’t quite get, and a tap routine. They were interesting—Patrick enjoyed the rhythmic constancy of tap the most, it reminded him of drums. 

 

Before the lights dimmed again he glanced down at the program. Brendon had helpfully circled the ones Pete was in using a glittery copper eyeliner pencil he pulled from God knows where. This next one was called… _Leaves of Grass?_ He shrugged mentally—a little Walt Whitman was never a bad thing, but he had no idea how that would interpret into dance. But then the lights came up in soothing greens, and Pete moved onto stage. He started dancing with three others, a quartet of movement and delightfully asymmetrical balance, and he looked down at the program again. It said (Modern) next to the title of the dance…and he couldn’t help but lean forward as he watched. 

 

There was something about this dance that appealed to him in a way that ballet or the more formal types of dancing never had. It was so…free. Sometimes it was tied to the music, other times it competed with the music for supremacy, sometimes it stood in stark contrast. He loved the way the dancers movements were so fluid yet also sharp in just the right places, and how when all the students flowed together just right, they made something so cohesive, so organized yet so brilliantly off-kilter. He was struck for a moment with a metaphor—how some songs had a undertone played in a minor key, while the song itself was played in a major. Somehow that contrast of diametrically opposed sounds lent itself to strange beauty…to harmony in discord. That was what this looked like. This was a minor key dance to a major key song. 

 

But more than just that…there was Pete. He took Patrick’s breath away. He looked almost like a sprite, an ethereal being that barely touched the floor. The look on his face was longing, wistful…like he was an artist painting a beloved face from memory and had to fall back into the maze of history to find inspiration. But more than that, he was serene, there was no conflict on his face…it was just beauty, and Patrick couldn’t help but be mesmerized. He would spin, throwing his legs into the air, and somehow  his body would almost seem to float, like an axis rather than a slingshot, seemingly defying gravity. It was _beautiful._

 

The dance ended on a final chord, and the curtain started to drop. Pete’s eyes closed just before he vanished from sight, and Patrick was surprised to see the smile curving his lips upwards. Slight, but there, and it warmed his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. 

 

There was one more ballet number danced by five ballerinas to a classical piece with lots of discordant strings. Patrick liked it but it seemed…he wasn’t sure. It was just so _formal._

 

But then the curtain dropped and Brendon was nudging him excitedly as he leaned over to whisper in Patrick’s ear. “Dude, this final number? It’s amazing. Pete wouldn’t stop telling me how excited he was for you to see it.” 

 

Giving Brendon an interested look and wondering with a vague uneasiness in his stomach what _else_ Pete had been telling Brendon, Patrick’s eyes were drawn back to the stage as a percussive beat started that sounded vaguely familiar. 

 

“Oh my God, Bren, that’s—“ Patrick was cut off by five of the Afro-Latin dance guys running shirtless out on stage, their skin nearly _glowing_ in the burnished lights. They were moving to _his drumbeats_ , somehow _his music_ that he had played for them those nights in the studio was _here_ on the stage and Patrick couldn’t tear his eyes away. They arrayed themselves in a semi-circle as the drums faded gently…

 

With a crash of rhythm, Pete _leapt_ onto the stage and they _danced_. It was freedom and everything that Patrick had ever tried to say with notes and with music, he could _see_ _his music._ He could see how it made him feel reflected in the sinuous bodies of the dancers, he could feel his own heartbeat in their movements. He could see _his joy_ reflected on their faces—on the gorgeous face of his boyfriend, who was dancing and leaping across the stage like it was the greatest day of his life. 

 

His drumbeats faded and a electronic-heavy version of “You Can’t Stop The Beat” began to play as the rest of the dancers began weaving and dancing on stage—a cacophony of costumes all blending together into a final crescendo of movement. Pete was on the front right, swaying and smiling—his body a picture of graceful tension and unbound joy as he danced. The climax built, and the dancers twirled a final time before throwing their hands in the air for a triumphant finish. 

 

Patrick was on his feet as the last notes thundered out, clapping his hands and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Brendon was next to him, letting out a truly impressive whistle as the rest of the crowd gave the dancers a standing ovation as they took a final bow. 

 

Several of Brendon’s friends swarmed them as the lights came on, excitedly talking about their costumes (Patrick gathered it was actually all for the theatre final coming up) and showing off their handiwork on an inventive stitch pattern or a crazy new way of molding plastic. Brendon introduced him and told them that he was the one who had played the drums for the final piece, and complements were showered on him that made his cheeks flush and him find new interest in his shoes. 

 

There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see Pete standing there, still shirtless and _gorgeous._ “What did you think?“ His eyes were still ringed with the eyeliner but it had smeared just a tiny bit, making his eyes look wider, the brown sparkling on the whites. There was a look on his face that reminded Patrick of a puppy, when it wasn’t sure if it was in trouble for peeing on the carpet or not.

 

Reaching out with tentative hands, Patrick cupped Pete’s face as he stepped close, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. He looked deep into Pete’s eyes, willing him to see what he was feeling. “You were _incredible._ ” 

 

The answering smile that blossomed across Pete’s face like a sunrise and Patrick couldn’t help himself. He pulled his amazingly talented and stunningly gorgeous boyfriend into his arms and kissed him _hard_.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise picnic...and Patrick telling Pete what he means to him in the only way he knows.

 

Spring midterms were finally, blessedly over and Patrick could feel his palms sweating as he waited and tapped his fingers against his thigh.

 

It had been…two weeks? No,  _ three weeks _ since he had spent any time with Pete other than a hurried lunch in the cafeteria or a hug in the halls between classes. The last time they’d spent more than 30 minutes together had been after Pete’s recital, when Patrick had begged his roommate to visit his girlfriend for a couple hours and given Pete what he had gasped out afterwards was the  _ best blowjob of his life. _ But then it had become a whirlwind of final projects, group projects and the end-of-year musical performance prep that happened to be completely opposite to Pete’s schedule.  

 

But today…today he’d had a free half-day, and Pete had a free evening…so here he was. Waiting on the empty stage at five minutes after seven and waiting for his boyfriend…hoping he could make the evening perfect.

 

“…’Trick?” Pete’s voice rang out as he entered the huge hall, and he waved. 

 

“Up here.” 

 

Running towards the dimly-lit stage, Pete grinned as he hopped up to the wooden floor. “What’s this?” He looked down and Patrick swallowed as he hoped his boyfriend wouldn’t think this was stupid.

 

“…A picnic?” He answered, and Pete laughed. 

 

“Are you asking me or telling me?” 

 

“Well, telling you…I wanted to do something special, since we’ve barely seen each other and…yeah.” He shrugged as Pete sat down, making appreciative noises as he looked over the spread.

 

“Looks amazing.” He stuffed a mouthful of some sort of slaw in his mouth and groaned at how good it was. “Where did you get this stuff? And how’d you get us in here?” 

 

“This was all kinda an exercise in bartering. I helped my friend Andy figure out how to fix his iTunes library and he got me time in the cooking program’s kitchen so I could make the food. And Brendon knows the guy who cleans in here and he got me in ‘cause I let him borrow my boxed set of He-man.” 

 

“I can’t get over how good a cook you are.” Pete grinned at him, leaning over to give him a deep kiss, eyes crinkled at the corners when he pulled away smiling. “This is the best picnic I’ve ever, babe. No bugs, no sunburn, no screaming kids, and you.” 

 

A blush painted Patrick’s cheeks and his heart unclenched. He desperately didn’t want to reveal the reason they were here, but he didn’t exactly have a convincing lie…but to his immense relief, Pete didn’t ask. They enjoyed the quaint meal on Patrick’s bedspread/picnic blanket and caught up on the last few weeks—projects and stories and frustrations. 

 

“What are you doing over the summer?” Patrick asked over desert—mini cheesecakes—and Pete tried to answer around a mouth of creamy deliciousness, but failed. He swallowed his bite and ran a hand through his hair. 

 

“Going back home…probably gonna work at Subway  _ again _ ‘cause my parents get real angry if I don’t get a job…apparently I’m a terror when I’m bored.” He rolled his eyes but there was no real ire in them. “What about you?”

 

“Same…just not subway. My old boss said he’d rehire me, so I’ll be back at Electric Vinyl _.”  _

 

_ “DUDE.”  _ Pete’s eyes widened and he started bouncing a bit. “You worked at Electric Vinyl? I used to go there  _ all the time.”  _

 

“Yeah, I started last summer.” 

 

“Ohmygosh…” Pete stuffed another bite of cheesecake in his mouth. “How did I not see you? How were we not best friends and dating before this?” He shook his head and grinned. “Guess it just means we were fated to be together either way.” 

 

“Maybe so.” Patrick hummed and smiled back, nerves settling in the pit of his stomach as he contemplated the question that he’d been freaking out over for the past week, since one of the girls in his class asked him what was going to happen to them over the summer. “So, uh, I have a question?”

 

“Anything, hot stuff.” Pete laid down on stomach, propping his chin on his hands and turning topaz eyes up to Patrick’s. 

 

“…Are…I mean…what’s going to happen to  _ us _ over the summer?” Patrick stumbled a bit before just letting the words tumble out, hoping he didn’t sound too nervous or too desperate or too hopeful. 

 

“Oh.” Pete’s voice was lower when he said the words, and he scrambled to sit up so their eyes were level once more. “I dunno, I mean…are you saying you don’t want to stay together? I mean, if that’s what you want, I get it, but—“ 

 

“ _ No.”  _ Patrick cut him off, grabbing his hand before he could stop himself as gratitude thundered through him. “No, I—it’s not a very long ride from Evanston to Wilmette on the train, and we could try to coordinate our days off or whatever, I just…didn’t want to assume.” 

 

“‘Trick.” Pete’s voice was fond. “Please don’t ever give me a heart attack like that ever again. I swear, I thought you were like…gonna do the  _ I just need space _ thing, and that was going to turn into  _ we should take a break _ and…I’m telling you, my anxious ass couldn’t handle that.” 

 

“I’d never do that to you.” Patrick murmured and knew in his heart he meant it. 

 

“Well, then that’s settled  _ boyfriend _ .” Smiling, Pete pulled their clasped hands up and pressed a kiss to he back of Patrick’s. “Who knows, this might mean we’ll see each other  _ more!”  _

 

_ “ _ That’d be awesome.” He smiled and took a deep breath, feeling like everything had clicked into place, that this might go  _ exactly _ the way he had hoped. They finished the last few mini-cheesecakes with only a few faux-orgasm noises from Pete and subsequent shushing sputterings from Patrick. Together they piled everything into Patrick’s old duffle that used to be lime green but now was a faded gray and Pete gave him a leering look. 

 

“So…we have all this space to ourselves…” 

 

While he was enough of a  _ dude _ to feel blood rush somewhere other than just his cheeks at the thought, he also could hear all the music Gods and several of his music teachers screaming at him in admonishment and shook his head. “We are  _ not _ going to fuck on the stage.” Pete’s lips turned down in a pout, but he just leaned forward to press a quick kiss to them. “Stay here, trust me okay?” Not looking to see if Pete was making a face, he ran with jello-legs towards the back of the hall to the sound booth. Reaching around, he hit the  _ play _ button and then rushed back, hoping he had put the right amount of lead time on the track. 

 

“What’s going on ‘Trick, I—“ Pete’s mouth closed with an audible snap as Patrick climbed back up on the stage, scuffing his foot nervously as music started to pour from the hidden speakers. “What is this?” he asked, voice softer as he looked at him intently.

 

Patrick shrugged, biting his lip and wondering why he had thought this was a good idea. Too late to back out now. “I--I wrote this....for you.” He stared resolutely at his scuffed converse as he felt the words slipping past his lips and hoped it didn’t all sound stupid. “And I thought maybe...you’d always asked me to say dance and I said no...so...” Sweeping his hand out to the stage, he finally dared to look up and meet Pete’s eyes. “Yeah.” 

 

“ _ Patrick.”  _ Pete breathed his name like it was a secret as he stumbled forward with a surprising lack of grace, wrapping him into the tightest hug in the world. Burying his face in Pete’s neck, Patrick took a deep breath of his smell and sighed contentedly. After a long moment, Pete pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around Patrick’s waist and start to sway slowly to the beat. “You really wrote this? For me?” 

 

He shrugged, thinking he wasn’t sure what else to do beyond that when Pete was looking at him like that. “It just...it’s how I feel watching you dance, and I wanted to...show you what you look like to me. But music’s the only way I know how so…” Pete shook his head and wrapped his arm more firmly around Patrick’s waist, clasping their opposite hands until they were in a loose approximation of a ballroom stance. 

 

“This is the most amazing thing  _ anybody’s  _ ever done for me.” He pressed a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips before murmuring  _ thank you _ against them. Patrick blushed and laid his head on Pete’s shoulder, letting him lead their clumsy travel across the empty stage and he sighed, deciding this was an okay kind of dancing. 

 

“Umm...am I the girl in this scenario?” He whispered, pulling his head away to look at Pete with a quizzically-arched brow. 

 

“Only ‘cause you’re the prettiest one.” Pete guided him through a stumbling, laughing turn, letting go of one of his hands as he spun out and back in to land with only a little force with his back against his chest. They danced like that for the rest of the song, Pete pressing soft kisses to Patrick’s cheek and neck until the crescendo built around them. Just as the song reached the end Pete spun him around again, deftly guiding his body down and into a theatrical dip that would have been ridiculous if it hadn’t been for the earnest smile on his face. He held it for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to Patrick’s slightly-parted lips before pulling him back up and into a hug that lasted long into the silence and neither of them really cared. 

 

“Happy end of the semester, Pete.” Patrick mumbled from where he was burrowed into his chest, and Pete pulled away to jump up and down theatrically. He dropped his hands and ran in a circle around Patrick, executing several flawless leaps that made him look like he was floating weightlessly. Coming back, he took Patrick’s hand again and pulled him back towards his backpack. 

 

“Will it play again? I want to just sit and listen to it in here just one more time.”

 

“Umm...yeah? It should repeat?” Patrick answered, words ending in a huff as Pete pulled him down unceremoniously and laid his head on his lap. 

 

“Perfect. I just...nobody’s ever written something for me before. I want to make sure I appreciate it with the composer right here with me.” He gave Patrick a million-watt smile that made him blush and dip his head down, running a hand aimlessly through Pete’s hair as the song started again. They sat and let it echo around them, bouncing off the worn wooden stage and reverberating between both their hearts. When it ended, Pete sighed and sat up, climbing into Patrick’s lap and wrapping his arms and legs around him like an octopus. “ _ Thank you so much _ , ‘Trick.” 

 

He couldn’t quite find words around the way his heart was fluttering in his chest at the way Pete was looking down at him, the things that sparkled in his eyes like candlelight. So he just reached up to cradle Pete’s face in his hands and pressed a long, loving kiss to his lips, smirking when Pete rolled his hips gently against him. A long moment later, they heard the outer door slam and Pete pulled away with a devilish grin. 

 

“So you said we can’t-- _ you know _ \--here.” He rolled his hips again and Patrick couldn’t help the quiet moan that fell from between his clenched teeth. “But can we go back to my dorm and you let me thank you  _ properly?” _

 

Footsteps came closer and Patrick pushed him off, stumbling to his feet and jumping off the stage quickly, like they were in trouble. But his head was full of tumbling conviction that they could make it, that the train wasn’t so bad and that Pete was  _ worth it _ , and smiled. He held out his hand and Pete jumped down, sliding his tanned one into his as plush pink lips quirked up into a smile. 

 

“Only because I kinda like you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading friends! I've been on a WIP-finishing BINGE lately, and I've had this chapter half-written for MONTHS! I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading this silly little story with me <3 Hugs and love to all of you until next time!!!!


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